The Maze Quell
by Won'tforgetcanregret
Summary: For the 100th year of the Hunger Games, the rules have changed, and the Gladers and Group B find themselves fighting for their lives for the chance to make it out. TMR characters in THG universe.
1. Prologue

The two men faced each other across the long table emblazoned with the seal of the Capitol.

"President Auden," The older addressed the younger, "construction of this year's arena is underway, entirely different that anything before it. However, we wanted your input for the, ah, twist, as this year marks the hundredth Games."

The president considered for a moment. This would be the first Quell while he was in power, and he had to make it purely his own. He considered every word he spoke to the Head Gamemaker carefully. "I am presented with the opposite predicament of my predecessor, President Snow. He faced uprisings because there was too much hope in the districts. They could dream of rebellion. But after their revolution was crushed, all of this hope died. The people no longer care about the nation, about their district, about the Games."

"What are you suggesting, sir?"

"Give them something to hope for. Give them a taste of a fighting chance."

Three days later, an enormous swarm of camera crews gathered around the presidential office. Septimus Auden stepped onto the balcony, and set a box down on his podium. The anthem of Panem crescendoed, then cut off as he drew forth the card bearing the announcement of the 100th Hunger Games.

Cameras zoomed in on his face as he began to speak. "This Quarter Quell, to remind citizens of the great nation of Panem that your Capitol is not heartless, any and all tributes that successfully escape the Arena will be permitted to live out their days as Victors."

As the anthem started up again and the cameras clicked off, President Auden exited the stage and turned to the head Gamemaker.

"It's a daring move, Mr. Liddell. I hope, for your sake, it works out in our favor."


	2. The Reaping

**Newt**

Newt shifted restlessly in the sea of bodies gathered for the Reaping. Tension was building in the town square of district 8 while the time clicked down to one o'clock and beyond as they waited for their notoriously late district escort.

Finally, flanked by Peacekeepers, the tall, effervescent Oliviana Twell swept onto the stage. At first glance, she looked almost normal for a Capitol citizen, until you realized that her skin shimmered different colors depending on the light and strands of her black hair were shot through with ostensibly real gold.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She spoke in a high voice with the ridiculous accent of Panem's elite, and Newt wondered vaguely, not for the first time, if district escorts took a class to learn how to be so... bubbly.

All of the introductions went on as normal, but he found his focus drifting, trying to comprehend what he was about to do. Finally, it was time for the tribute selection. As always, the girl's name was called first, and the owner of that unlucky name made her way to the stage amidst the silence. Her face was drawn tight, red-blonde hair swirling around her. Newt shook himself back to reality long enough to study her for a moment. She wasn't crying, that was a good sign. She was small, not necessarily a fighter, but there was always the potential for hidden skills.

As she took her place next to the escort, Oliviana bounced over to the bowl with the boys' names. She reached deep into the bowl and selected a strip of paper. As she read the name, a deep quiet fell among the younger children. The boy, only 13 at the most, walked forward in a state of shock. And that was when Newt acted.

"I volunteer," he tried to say, voice catching in his throat. "I volunteer!" he repeated. The words physically parted the crowd in front of him, leaving a clear path for the funeral march of the crazy kid. He took a deep breath and began to make his way to the stage. His bad right leg ached with every step, but he refused to let them think he was weak. As he climbed the steps up to the stage, the boy he had volunteered for stared at him blankly. They didn't know each other, had never spoken. The female tribute had hidden her emotions well so far, but now looked thoroughly bewildered. Her confusion was reflected in the faces of the crowd as Oliviana announced his name. The mayor stepped up to read the Treaty of Treason, but Newt didn't hear a word. He just stood there, hands clenched, entirely numb.

As the ceremony ended, Newt and the girl were swept into the Justice Building. As the Capitol people began spouting information at them, Newt ignored them and turned to the girl. He stuck his hand out.

"Sorry, didn't catch your name in all of this-" he gestured vaguely, "-madness."

"Sonya," she replied, still seeming a little out of it as she shook his hand. That was entirely natural, he supposed, considering she'd just been picked to fight to the death and was now going to see her family for what might be the last time.

"Newt." As he said this, they were led off different ways to say their goodbyes.

Newt had no one to say goodbye to. When they brought him up to the neat room with the velvet couch, he remained there alone with his thoughts.

Despite the fact that he had just volunteered to die, he felt selfish. Sure, he supposed he had wanted to save a younger boy from going to his death, but he cared less about the boy than he cared about the probability of his own death. Ever since the factory collapse that had taken his whole family from him, it was all he had wanted. The Peacekeepers had called the disaster an accident, but word was that they had heard talk of rebellion and brought it down themselves. He hadn't been old enough then to be working, but his parents and his older sister were gone, nothing found of them even to bury. The fact was, living had never been all that great anyway, and that had broken him.

He'd tried to take his own life. Tried, and failed miserably, ending up still alive and with a badly broken leg that had never quite healed correctly. His only hope was that this way, when he died, it could mean just a little bit more.


End file.
